


making my way home

by mamajustkilledaman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamajustkilledaman/pseuds/mamajustkilledaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is so goddamn tired, the kind of exhaustion that settles deep into his aching bones, the kind that makes it difficult to get up in the morning. For fucks shake, he just saved the fucking world, and will continue to do so until his rattling dying breath but for now he just-</p>
<p>He just wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	making my way home

It all comes down on a Thursday.

It’s the middle of the night but Dean can’t sleep, because he just got Sammy back and _his mom_ is in the other room and he has to make sure that this is true, that she really is there and is not just some Amara-induced hallucination.So Dean can't sleep, and he's creeping down the bunker’s corridor when it abruptly strucks him.

Castiel’s door is slightly open and in the dim ray illuminating the room he sees him sleeping, his coat and jacket discarded. He is almost child-like in his sleep, all curled around himself, hair mussed by the pillow, expression soft in a way that it rarely is awake, except from when he is looking at Dean with impossibly blue eyes and-

Yeah.

And Dean is so goddamn tired, the kind of exhaustion that settles deep into his aching bones, the kind that makes it difficult to get up in the morning. For fucks shake, he just saved the fucking world, and will continue to do so until his rattling dying breath but for now he just-

He just _wants._

It was always the wrong time and place with the two of them, death and destruction always looming over their heads, miles and entire dimensions separating them. It was always the wrong time, and Dean is used to burying his feelings, has been living in denial for so long that he doesn’t know how to do something else, how to _be_ something else.

The fact is, he realized a long time ago that there’ll never be a right time. The world will still be ending, and the family business doesn’t exactly promote longevity but for the first time he’s run out of excuses. He’s run out of second chances, and the knowledge of that had him leaving the cemetery with a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that he had wasted yet another one.

So he is worn down and aching, and so damn tired, and that prompts him to open the creaky door, to step into the dark room and just stare at Cas’ sleeping form, drink in the sight of him alive and well, not cursed or possessed or dying or leaving. He suddenly remembers the sheer wonder that he has seen in his eyes when he learned that Dean had survived, how he had clutched him tight with his mother looking knowingly in the background.

His chest feels tight and his eyes burn, and he cannot speak because if he does he fears that he may actually cry, and that cannot happen because _Dean Winchester does not cry._

He drops gingerly to his knees beside Cas and all the longing he’s suppressed all these years comes crushing down and he can’t help it, it’s just easier in the intimacy of the dark room to run his hand through his hair, to caress the droop of his eyes, for all the times that he wanted to but couldn’t, for all the times that he longed but held back.

Cas gently opens his eyes with a soft murmur, a hesitant exclamation of “Dean…?”

_Fuck_ , Dean loves him so much he can scarcely breathe.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Now that he is standing at the precipice, he is too terrified to take the final step.

Luckily, there was never a particular need for words between the two of them, they always had their unique silent language, and though it has failed them many times, right now, as Cas tags him down in the cool sheets, it feels more like a blessing.

They lie there, facing each other and the space between them feels warm and pulses with all the things left unsaid.

It’s Cas who speaks first, his voice raspy from sleep. “When you- when I thought you were gone, I felt hatred towards myself. Not only because I couldn’t protect you, because I was sending you to your doom without even a protest. I regretted immensely having wasted so much time.” He lifts his head slightly, looks him in the eye. “I would have waited eons for you, but don’t you think that we have wasted enough?”

Dean draws him in then, cradles him in his arms, a silent agreement. “Yeah. Tis’ my fault, I know. I’m sorry.”

He expects Cas to rush to his defense, to get all righteous and angry, as he does every time that Dean berates himself. But Cas remains silent, his thumb slowly, uncertainly rubbing circles against his chest. The gesture is so soothing, that it almost stops the erratic beating of his heart, almost calms his ragged breathing.

Almost.

“I could feel it you know.” Cas says after a while. It feels more like a confession than a simple remark. “Your longing. Everytime you wished for my presence, even if you didn’t put this wish into words. I was unsettled. Afraid. So no, it is not solely your fault, the blame lies with me as much as you.

” “What, so you’re saying we’re both a couple of dumbasses?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. He knows what’s coming next.

“I prefer the word “stubborn”. Less dumb. Less ass.”

Castiel is smiling too, one of his small, private smiles, and in the tender atmosphere of the room it unknots the lump in Dean’s throat, eases the tension out of his body, feels like a balm to his tired, worn out soul.

It feels like _a beginning._

Because he can see it now, can see them now and he thinks of what Jesse and Cesar had, how content and happy they’ve been, and he knows he doesn’t have to long for it anymore because he has it right there, nestled into his arm. He can imagine going to sleep like this everynight , and waking in the morning with Cas, drinking coffee together, cooking together, doing all the domestic shit that Dean has been secretly dreaming of for years. And he can imagine them hunting, patching each other up, fighting and making up, making love. And he can almost picture Sammy’s smug grin, and his mother’s soft look and his burning cheeks, but most of all he can picture Cas’ loving look and that is enough to quell his embarrassment.

He squeezes Cas one last time. They have all the time in the world right now. Or at least what little time the universe grants them.

“Goodnight Dean.”

“Night Cas.”

Yeah, he can work with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently a ball of teenage angsty pining so I wanted to be melodramatic for a while. The title and the inspiration comes from the song "Going Home" by Asgeir, it's awesome go listen to it. I'd like to thank all those who left comments, kudos, bookmarks, on my first fic, it really gave me the courage to publish a second, somewhat longer work. Thank you so much :)  
> Come find me on tumblr on mumjustkilledaman


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